


The Only Thing That's Real

by meredithleon



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e18 The Wall, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meredithleon/pseuds/meredithleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inside the wall, Sylar's acting weird and Peer can't stand it. Until he figures out why. Understanding leads to friendship leads to sex and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Thing That's Real

The first few weeks of living inside Sylar’s mind, Peter tries everything not to cross paths with the serial killer. But it seems no matter where he hides, Sylar finds him. He tries to make a small talk or maybe start a conversation, but whatever it is, Peter is NOT interested. He says that much, and Sylar shuts his mouth for a while, then it’s back to trying to tune out his voice. Peter wonders if Sylar likes the sound of his own voice so much, to keep on talking when he knows the other party is not even half listening.

Sometimes, Sylar catches Peter’s attention, mostly when he talks about Nathan, or talks like him. Times like these make Peter clench his fists, trying very hard not to lash out at him. He’s here because he needs help. Kicking and screaming and beating the other man to pulp isn’t going to help Emma. So he just shouts, gets in the other man’s space and snarls at him to just shut-the-fuck-up, and walks away with a “Don’t fucking follow me”.

But Sylar wouldn’t be Sylar if he listened to anyone, so he follows. “You can’t not talk to me for long Peter. You’ll come around eventually. It’s just us here, just you and me.” 

Peter wants to punch him, tries really hard not to, but eventually does, and the look on the other man’s face isn’t anger or even annoyance, he looks smug and satisfied. _Weirdo!_ Peter thinks. Sylar is a mystery to Peter, the only person he has ever thought of as irredeemable. And now Peter has also labeled him as certifiably nuts. 

~~~ 

When the mysterious wall appears out of nowhere, Peter thinks perhaps they have found a way out. But it’s never as easy as it looks, and the wall, defying all laws of physics as if it were made of re-enforced iron, refuses to break down. But this is the insane mind of an insane man, and Peter should know better than to expect normality. _Like I ever did,_ he snorts to himself. 

But it’s Sylar’s behavior that frustrates him the most. Sylar says he wants to help, goes so far as to pick up a hammer and swing a couple of times, but then he just stops and leans against the wall watching. It freaks the hell out of Peter, the concerted staring, but he doesn’t say anything as long as Sylar doesn’t. It never lasts long. Sylar says something about his brother, good or bad doesn’t matter, its just Nathan’s name on his lips, Nathan’s memory in his mind and Peter loses it. He hits the man in the face, with his fist, not the hammer even though he wants to. But Sylar doesn’t stop there, he taunts and teases until it’s too much and Peter can’t take it anymore. He hits him again and again, and he keeps hitting until the other man is covered in blood and Peter’s knuckles are torn and bleeding. He feels disgusted later, at himself and at Sylar. 

These instances occur so often that Peter has a hard time trying to remember when was the last time he had talked to anyone civilly. He dreads turning into the monster he is trapped with, but since all Sylar has done is talking and he hasn’t raised a hand at the younger man, Peter feels like he is a bigger monster. This train of thought is not encouraging and Peter tries to shut it down but every time he beats Sylar, he goes back to his apartment in the nightmare world with less of himself. It’s like he loses a part of himself with every punch he throws. He hates Sylar for that, for looking like a fucking victim, and making Peter look like some kind of sadist.

No matter how badly he gets beaten, Sylar comes back for more. It’s the look in his eyes that makes Peter stop one day. He halts, his fists raised and his legs straddling the taller man’s thighs. Sylar looks perversely delighted; he looks blissful. It scares Peter. _What is Sylar’s game? Is he trying to make me stoop to his level? Is he trying to make me lose myself and turn into an abusive bastard before I get out of here? What the hell does he want? God! And I thought I couldn’t hate him more._ He makes a disgusted sound and spits on the other man’s face. He gets off Sylar and leaves.

The next time Sylar tries provoking him, he ignores the older man. Even when Sylar brings out another of Nathan’s memories of his childhood, Peter just tightens his grip on the handle of the hammer and swings with so much force it vibrates every nerve in his arms and shoulder. He knows this means that later he won’t be able to raise his arm higher than a few inches, but the prospect of future distress doesn’t curb his newfound will. He is Peter Petrelli, a nurse, a paramedic, he likes taking care of people, and no matter how much a certain psychopath wants it, he is not going to turn into a monster. 

~~~

Sylar quits his game after some time. Now he stands too close to Peter, even if the entire street is empty, which it always is. Peter takes a few steps away and Sylar looks disappointed. _What the hell?_ Peter is now sure the-, what did he say? Yeah, -3 years, alone has taken away any of the sanity Sylar had left. Peter doesn’t know what Sylar wants; he sure as hell isn’t going to ask. 

Sylar has started something weirder. He walks too close to him, brushing his arm with Peter’s, or he sits too close, their bodies almost touching. Peter is tired of Sylar and his games. “Don’t touch me Sylar! Just stay the fuck away from me,” he shouts one day as Sylar gives him a bottle of water and deliberately brushes their fingers together. He jerks his hand back, the bottle falling on the ground.

It looks like Sylar is tired too, because he shouts back, “I’m not a leper, Peter, and I don’t have a contagious disease you might catch by just being near me.” 

Peter stares at him, shocked; so far, Sylar had shown infinite calm and the last time he lost his temper was when Peter had refused to eat, drink or sleep and insisted that nothing changes in this goddamned place. That had been for Peter’s own good, not like Peter saw it as that, it had just made the nightmare seem more real. 

Sylar has that soft look in his eyes that Peter had only once seen before, in Pinehearst, when he had come for him. Sylar shakes his head and says quietly, “You don’t have to be like that Peter, I just wanted-” he looks down, and when he raises his head, his eyes are shining and wet, “It’s not who you are.” He turns and leaves. 

Peter can’t process what happened. _Did Sylar just walk out on me? Am I feeling upset about that?_

~~~

It’s strangely quiet the next few weeks. They work on the wall, they talk, but something is missing. Peter tries to place it, but fails. He makes an attempt at being polite with Sylar and suggests dinner, since they are the only people in the world and they might as well stick together. He pushes away the voice that says he’s just repeating what Sylar had been saying all along. 

The look Sylar gives him makes him warm in places. He thinks he’s blushing but refuses to back down. Perhaps this can be the first step to saving Emma, so he waits for Sylar to say yes. Which he does. Peter smiles totally unknowingly until he feels his facial muscles stretching. He ducks his head down and misses Sylar’s answering smirk.

They start eating together every day, and Peter has taken residence in the building opposite Sylar’s, but something is still missing. Its presence like a void, and he doesn’t know how to fill it. 

He’s starting to see Sylar as human, and he thinks there might be something left of the man to save. Peter is warming up to Sylar and it doesn’t feel so bad except when he thinks about his brother. Will forgiving Sylar mean forgetting Nathan? He is very confused. He needs connection and Sylar is here, not really the same person Peter knew him as. He doesn’t know Sylar’s history, so he can’t say if he was always a ruthless, arrogant, over-confident son of a bitch. Something tells him he was not, but more like the man he gets glimpses of often enough these days. He wants to believe, and to an extent does, that Sylar isn’t the man who killed his brother anymore. 

~~~

It happens when he unintentionally puts his hand on Sylar’s on the ketchup bottle. He looks up at the other man to see if he felt it, the heat, but Sylar is still looking at Peter’s hand over his own. Sylar withdraws his hand sooner than Peter would have liked though, and Peter holds back the expression threatening to form on his face that might easily give away his need. He takes the bottle and pours generous amounts on the sandwiches, his mind running a hundred miles an hour as he ponders over this new revelation. 

Peter thinks about their initial fights or rather his own rage. Was Sylar starved of touch so much that he took his fists in lieu of no touch at all? He must have been. After that, Sylar had tried to keep close, so he could accidentally (deliberately) brush against him. Peter had turned him down, refused to let him touch. And now that he can feel the same longing and the same pull, he wants Sylar to touch him, and let him touch in return. Things would have been different if he had tried to empathize with the other man sooner or at least accepted that he had been punished long enough. 

Peter looks at the slightly crestfallen, slightly hopeful face of the other man, and gives him a warm smile letting him know it’s OK to touch now. He feels oddly giddy at the thought and somewhat guilty for having thought so lowly of him. Sylar had only wanted to feel the warmth of another human. He gets that, now.

~~~

They are working on the wall together one evening and when Sylar accidentally injures his hand, Peter is there in a second holding the bloody palm gently. He tugs the former killer towards the nearest glass door and pulls him inside. Sylar goes with him without complaint and sits down on the chair Peter has pointed to. The younger man searches through the cabinets and finds a decent first aid kit and goes back to treating his patient, whose eyes he could feel on himself the entire time. But he’s in a full ‘nurse’ mode, so nothing can distract him, he tells himself, not even the burning midnight gaze or the proximity of a darkly handsome man. 

He wraps gauze around the injured palm, secures it with tape, then smiles and tells Sylar all is fixed. He looks up from his kneeling position in front of the other man. Sylar is staring at him with the same look he had seen before, but this time it has a tinge of something else. Peter doesn’t know yet but he’s leaning forward and Sylar is dipping his head. Their lips meet and both of them jerk back in surprise. 

Sylar has something to say, but Peter knows it’s an apology, and there is nothing to be sorry about. He has to let Sylar know that, so he stands up. “Peter-” Sylar begins, panicked; Peter shushes him with another kiss. 

It’s not perfect, he’s crouching, his spine is bent at an uncomfortable angle and Sylar is injured, although not badly, it’s just a hand. Peter runs his fingers though the short dark hair and moves forward. The chair is armless, so he easily slides into the other man’s lap, his legs splayed wide on either side of the chair. Sylar’s fingers hold his hips in a tight grip that becomes almost spasmodic when Peter lets his tongue dip inside the warm, full lips. He rasps his tongue against the other; lets it run along the underside of the maxillary teeth, dips it below the other tongue, exploring. He moans as warmth and pleasure course through him. His toes are curling inside his shoes and it’s sweaty and hot and Sylar tastes amazingly sweet.

Sylar’s hands are everywhere at once and Peter can feel the rough gauze through the cloth of his pants and t-shirt as the hands roam across his back and thigh. Sylar’s good hand holds the younger man’s neck and tilts his head, positioning it for better penetration by the hot tongue that is insistently pressing inside Peter’s thinner lips. Every touch of their skin against the other’s means more here than just skin on skin. It’s intense and it’s making Peter roll his hips and grind against the body beneath him. 

The clothes seem too much and he attacks Sylar’s shirt with abandon. It rips and finally Peter has access to skin he wants so desperately to touch. He works his hands through Sylar’s chest hair down to his navel, and back up, licking Sylar’s jaw and chin. He sucks on the side of Sylar’s neck, hard enough to give him a hickey. He pulls back to look at his handiwork and is stunned for a moment. Sylar looks amazing, his skin is flushed and his hair is a mess, his lips are swollen and shining with saliva, the mark on his neck is deep red and his eyes are black with need. Peter knows he doesn’t look less debauched, but Sylar is so gorgeous, he is surprised he never saw that before. 

It’s dark outside by now and the inside of the office is lit. There is a large window made of tinted glass behind Sylar and Peter’s eyes fall on it as he pulls his own shirt off. (For some reason, Peter believes nerves, Sylar is letting Peter do all the work) He looks at the clear reflection in the glass. It shows him straddling the other man. There’s an illusion of both display and voyeurism but Peter finds the thought doesn’t bother him much so he continues and slides back enough to get rid of his pants and tugs on Sylar’s. 

“We’re going all the way?” Sylar asks tentatively. 

Peter feels bad. He leans up and kisses the other man. “If you want to.”

Sylar seems unsure and a little bit apprehensive, like he doesn’t know what Peter really wants, or he suspects something. _He thinks I’m messing with him,_ Peter realizes. There is a furrow on his forehead and Peter leans back to put some space between their faces. He is now afraid he might have taken this too far, always jumping ahead and thinking later. He curses himself. He is about to move away and apologize for his lack of consideration but Sylar seems to have reached a decision and is pulling Peter back and into a heated kiss. 

He seems eager to go ‘all the way’ too, because he takes off his pants and briefs and pulls Peter to him. He goes happily and is resuming his position on Sylar’s lap again, his ass bare against the other man’s hard member, his own erection pressed between their bodies. He moans against Sylar’s neck as warm hands kneed the flesh of his ass and a wet, hot mouth sucks the naked skin where neck meets shoulder. He raises his head and kisses the full lips, wet and sloppy, the kiss of someone so far gone in passion. He brings his mouth near and pants into Sylar’s ear, “Do you want to?” He doesn’t look at the window again, it feels unusually voyeuristic, but Peter’s body is thrumming with want and he is in no condition to change places. 

Sylar grabs his hair and pulls him back, his eyes search Peter’s for something, Peter suspects he is cross checking, just to be sure. Never before had Peter considered the handsome ex-villain as insecure or shy, but it seems Sylar has hard time dealing with this level of forwardness, not that Peter had foreseen or planned any of this. After a moment of looking intently, it appears Sylar finds what he has been hoping for and breathes, “You really want me.” 

Peter almost laughs, but he doesn’t want to look like he’s mocking the other man so he smiles openly. “Really? We are naked and minutes from fucking and you are asking if I really want you?” 

Sylar’s lips stretch and he leans up, brushing his lips against Peter’s. “Seconds,” he says and crushes their mouths together again. 

Pulling back, Sylar promptly sucks a couple of fingers of his uninjured hand into his mouth and Peter can’t seem to take his eyes off him. “Lift up.” Peter does, because he wants to so bad, his eyes meeting a similar pair in the reflection. He quickly looks away, even as his dick twitches at the illusion of exhibition. Sylar’s fingers slip inside him and he gasps wetly at the pain-pleasure. He pushes his hips down on the fingers moving in and out of his ass, taking them deeper. Stars burst in front of his eyes when the long fingers skim against his prostate. Sylar does it again, and again. Peter just can’t take it much longer, he shivers and pushes up reaching behind to take Sylar’s hard length in his hands. Sylar gasps at the touch and groans loudly when Peter lines it up and pushes himself down on him, enjoying the feeling of being filled. Sylar throws his head back and Peter leans in to bite and lick the pale throat left bare. 

He doesn’t shift until Sylar’s hands at his hips guide him. Only then does he move, up and down, the hard length slipping out and sheathing inside of him with every move. The scratch of Sylar’s bandage is only a slight discomfort against his side. Sylar starts thrusting into him harder and his breath becomes short. Peter sees this as a sign and speeds up his own movements. Again his eyes seek his own reflection, not unlike the tongue seeking a bad tooth, it’s alarming to him, but Sylar is reaching his release and he would rather watch that beautiful face when he comes undone. 

Within a couple of minutes, Sylar’s hold on his hip and upper thigh becomes painful. He stills and comes. Warmth fills Peter from the inside, his own arousal heightens, his entire body feels sensitive under the other man’s exploring fingers and a heavy tightening is building from his gut to his toes. Sylar puts a hand on Peter’s throbbing member and jerks him with just enough pressure. His thumb strokes the tip, pressing at the slit and Peter comes, shaking and melting, spilling on their chests. 

It is only later that he feels the wetness on his thigh and looks down at the red lightly splattered across the gauze. It is from Sylar’s injured palm; he had held on too tight. Sylar sees that, too, but smiles reassuringly. He brings his hand up to show Peter that it’s not so bad and gathers him close. 

Peter sags against the broad chest, both out of breath, both sated and lethargic enough to pass out. But a chair in a non-descript office is not an ideal place to fall asleep. Peter pushes off Sylar’s chest and leans over to kiss him, slow and sensual, but not entirely arousing, just pleasant. Sylar doesn’t attempt to deepen it either, and instead cradles Peter’s face in his hands almost reverently. It’s as sweet as it can get and they’ll have enough time later to cuddle. Peter extracts himself and pulls the other man up by his hands. They get dressed, not without a few impediments, neither man wanting to keep his hands off the other and leaning in to kiss frequently. 

They make it however, and head out to the older man’s apartment. It’s unspoken but they know where they both would prefer to sleep. They walk together, touching each other, Sylar’s arm draped over Peter’s shoulder, holding him close to his body, glancing once back at the wall. They’ll work on it tomorrow.


End file.
